


Pushed

by Chichirinoda



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:51:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyki's preoccupied and disturbed by what was discussed at the Noah's meeting, and Cyril decides to take his opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushed

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately after the meeting in chapter 187 of the manga, but with limited spoilers.
> 
> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt "Suspension".

_Too human. Am I too human?_

The worry was a familiar one, but not one that Tyki was normally conscious of. Today, however, after the meeting with Wisely, Tyki had left feeling unsettled. As he walked through the endless halls of the new Ark, he chafed his fingers against the roughened skin on his chest. The pain flared and ebbed with each restless motion of his fingers, yet he was unaware of the nervous tic.

"They'll never heal if you keep picking at them, my dearest." Cyril's lilting voice brought Tyki to a standstill, abruptly coming back to himself.

He looked around quickly, and spotted his older brother leaning gracefully, long limbs all akimbo, in the entranceway of an adjoining hallway that Tyki had just walked past without even noticing. _How did he get ahead of me?_ he thought in surprise. But then, in the maze of hallways that made up the Ark, it was entirely possible that Tyki had been walking in circles for the last hour and hadn't made any progress at all.

The words irritated him, and he turned away. The last thing he wanted right now was a conversation with anyone, least of all his brother.

"They'll never heal, regardless," he murmured, beginning to move on, but before he could take two steps his legs froze as if rooted to the floor.

Cyril made a tutting sound in his throat. "Don't walk away mad like that, my love. You'll break my heart." Warm arms slipped around Tyki from behind, as he struggled against the hold of Cyril's magic.

"Stop it," Tyki whispered, not pleading. Definitely not pleading. Just asking.

"Hush," Cyril purred. The older man was a little taller than Tyki, perhaps an inch, no more than two. He nuzzled into Tyki's hair, his arms tightening around him from behind. "You act like I'm going to hurt you. Why would you think such a thing for a moment?"

"I don't think you're going to hurt me," Tyki said, irritable. Cyril's hands were gentle, stroking his skin under the tight leather of his coat, and the older man was beginning to rock against him, a subtle motion. There was no question of what he wanted, but - "I'm just not in the mood for this. I want to be left alone."

"It's not good to be alone when you're upset," Cyril purred. "I know you. You show the world your easy smiles, but inside I know you are in such pain, my dear, dear brother. Such pain that it fractures you in two. Ahh! It hurts me to know you're in agony, my love."

"I'm not in agony!" Tyki snapped, and jerked himself forward. Cyril's arms slipped through him like through water, but the hold of Cyril's magic wasn't so easy to escape. He wobbled on his frozen legs, catching his balance before he could topple forward, as Cyril grappled with the air.

He could blast Cyril in the face with energy, set a swarm of Teases upon him, and surely the distraction would break the puppet master's hold on him. But that would likely lead to a pitched battle, and any fight between two Noah would inevitably draw the Earl's attention. That wasn't what Tyki wanted right now. But he could stop Cyril from touching him, and that might lead to the older man losing interest and getting bored. He was fickle at the best of times, anyway.

"How dull of you, Tyki," Cyril said, walking slowly around the trapped Noah so that they faced each other. He reached out to caress Tyki's cheek with one white-gloved hand, but his fingers passed through him again, and Tyki couldn't feel the touch.

"It's not dull of me," Tyki growled back. "I said I wasn't in the mood."

"Ahh~ You protest and struggle, always," Cyril said in a sing-song tone, the irritated frown giving way to a bright smile once more. "But I know what you really want, my dearest."

"And what do I want, other than for you to _let me be_?" Tyki ground out.

Cyril spread his hands, and Tyki felt his arms snap tight, the muscles locking as Cyril's magic spread to cover his whole body. Tyki let out a gasp, strangled in his throat, as his arms were pulled out straight, and then above his head, crossing at the wrists. He lifted into the air, suspended below the ceiling in the middle of the corridor where they stood, his feet a foot off the floor.

"You want to be _pushed_ ," Cyril said sagely.

Tyki's heart pounded in his chest. He knew Cyril _wouldn't_ hurt him. Though Cyril's powers allowed him to twist a man's body into the shape of a pretzel, with all of the accompanying splintering of bone and tearing of muscle, he would do no such thing to Tyki. But to be suspended in mid-air under someone else's power than his own was nothing Tyki was used to.

It was like that terrible day, all over again, when Allen's sword ripped through him, tore into his very soul, and there was nothing Tyki could do to stop him.

He struggled to keep his voice even, not to betray the tremor that wanted to bubble up in his throat and come out with his words. "I don't want to be pushed. I want you to leave me _alone_ , Cyril!"

Cyril only smiled and ducked into a nearby room, leaving Tyki dangling helplessly and struggling uselessly against the invisible bonds.

He felt his cheeks beginning to burn. Embarrassment wasn't usually something Tyki suffered from, but the thought occurred to him that someone could come along at any moment and see him here, and the very idea was utterly humiliating.

No one came walking along the corridor, however, and Cyril was back in seconds, a chair upholstered in red velvet carried in his hands. He set the chair down in the middle of the hall, and seated himself, crossing his legs and planting his elbow on his knee as he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. "Well now, how do you feel, my sweet?"

"I feel silly," Tyki growled. "And bored. Are you just going to sit there and watch me?"

Cyril chuckled, his eyes bright with mirth. "I don't see that I have any choice, do you? Since you've decided to be stubborn and embrace your suffering. I'll just have to bring you what joy I can from here. Let's...call it an intervention."

Tyki's embarrassment was fading, replaced by growing anger. "I don't need an intervention, Cyril! I'm _fine_."

Cyril's smile faded, and he gazed up at Tyki seriously. "You're far from fine." Then he straightened, bright-eyed once more, and clapped his hands once as if announcing a special event at a banquet. "And now, let us begin."

 _Begin? Begin what?_ Tyki thought, but before he could open his mouth to throw the question at Cyril, he felt his hands drop down slowly from above his head. He let it happen, tired by the effort to struggle against the inexorable pull of Cyril's magic.

He felt the magic lessen a bit, releasing his muscles from complete lock, so that he swayed and shifted a bit as he dangled in mid-air. The slack only brought home the fact that, even so, he couldn't stop himself from doing precisely what Cyril wanted him to do.

Like alien limbs, divorced from his body, Tyki felt his hands move to his groin and undo the fastenings, and then he realized what Cyril was planning.

"Cyril...stop this," he said, his voice rising a little as his hands shifted fabric, and drew his cock out. He was half-hard, despite himself, his body ready to enjoy the touch even if his mind was more reluctant.

"No, you stop," Cyril said, his tone growing cold. "You're inclined to be stubborn - I get that. But there's no need to carry on like an outraged woman."

Tyki might have retorted, but a gasp escaped his lips instead. His hand was working over his cock slowly, but with growing speed, drawing out the sensations just the way he liked it. Just the way Cyril _knew_ he liked it best. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Cyril's smirking, knowing face, but that only made the feelings more acute. He couldn't escape them, unable to stop a moan as his cock swelled to full hardness between his fingers.

"Cyril...damnit," he swore, gasping. There was nothing to distract him, nothing but the pleasure that spiralled through his body as his ardour increased.

He was still aware of Cyril's gaze, and he slitted open his own eyes to see his brother sitting comfortably in the chair, eyes fixed upon Tyki and his own pants open as he masturbated to the sight with long, slow pulls on his own cock. The man only smiled at Tyki's words, and the pace of their hands increased.

Slowly, Tyki realized that his own hand and Cyril's were moving in perfect concert. He gasped and shuddered, the movements making him sway and twist a little in the air as if he were truly suspended by physical bonds. He began to twist harder as the pace of his hand increased, working faster over the sensitive flesh as Tyki began to groan and spasm with impending orgasm.

Finally he jerked roughly, biting down on a wanton cry as he spilled himself over his fingers. He heard Cyril's own soft groan as he came, and forced his eyes open to watch his older brother sprawled back in the chair, gasping and shuddering in the throes of his own orgasm.

The strings were cut and Tyki dropped to the floor, his legs shaky and reluctant to hold him. He sat down more abruptly than he intended, bending forward to press his sweating forehead against his knees and struggling to catch his breath.

Without warning, Cyril's arms were around him, the older man kneeling before him on the floor. "Hush now," he whispered. "Feel better?" Tyki didn't make a conscious decision to let him touch, but Cyril's arms were solid against his shoulders, his hands pressing against his back, his lips soft and warm in his hair.

Tyki didn't reply, but he freed one hand and curled it in the fabric of Cyril's jacket, silent except for their breathing. Perhaps he did feel the tiniest bit better. But hell if he were going to admit it to his brother.

Not aloud, at any rate. But he was sure, from the smugness of Cyril's gentle caresses, that he knew.

Cyril did know him, too well.


End file.
